Another morning waking up with the sun heating the tent and birds going at it around us.
We've just opened our eyes. This is night five since we crossed into France — five days in the country next door, five nights sleeping outside.
After several months riding around Spain and Portugal we felt the urge to move, to explore somewhere new — but the route took us through France again.
Summer versus winter in France
We'd come to know France by bicycle in the winter, and we had fond memories of the hospitality of the people who invited us into their homes.
Cycling in summer has one big downside: everyone's on holiday, everyone has plans. Getting anyone to accept a Couchsurfing request or a Warmshowers message becomes nearly impossible. Our lack of fixed plans or dates, combined with patchy internet access, doesn't help either.
This has left us without a roof over our heads for five days. And we've still got another two to go before we reach Marseille, where a friend has invited us to stop and rest.
The worst thing about these five nights in the open isn't the lack of shelter, a hot shower, a washing machine or a kitchen — it's the lack of human contact, conversation, exchange. If you're wondering how we find spots, I've written a full guide on how to wild camp for free.
We're cycling along the coast to Marseille and, at this time of year, everything is intensely touristy — holidaymakers and businesses built for tourists. And here we are pedalling through the middle of it all with our loaded bikes and dirty clothes. Surrounded by all these summer visitors we look like vagabonds, homeless people — but I'd rather think of myself as home-free. Home-free, not homeless.
Sleeping in the tent in France
The first night we spent in a park. We'd crossed the border and, after a long descent, came across a park. The gate was locked, but the hedges serving as a fence were pretty sparse, so we walked the bikes straight through to the far corner of the park and pitched the tent.
The next day we couldn't face cycling — we'd spent the previous day pedalling into a strong headwind that was still blowing just as hard. We ended up spending most of the day using the WiFi in a McDonald's, taking turns walking to a nearby supermarket for bread. Thank you, McDonald's, for letting us use your WiFi all over the world without making us buy anything.
Late in the afternoon, with the wind still howling, we got back on the road with no intention of covering any real distance — just finding a new corner to camp.
A wood alongside the road did the job, and that's where we spent our second night camping in France.
Cycling routes on Google Maps
The wind dropped, and feeling slightly recovered, we got back on the bikes.
After so many months on the Iberian Peninsula I'd forgotten how good Google Maps cycling routes can be. They don't work everywhere, but in countries where the cycle routing function is available it's an incredibly useful tool for avoiding road sections and finding bike paths, greenways and tracks.
We left the main road and linked up greenway after country track, bike path after footpath.
We passed some ideal spots for the tent, but we wanted to keep pedalling. When we finally decided to stop, we couldn't find a scrap of ground to pitch on — everything was private property or official campsites that looked more like caravan parks, all crammed together. I wouldn't camp there even if it were free. Much happier wild camping in some forest somewhere.
Night fell, and under a waning moon we followed a greenway alongside a canal. Water on the left, water on the right, a narrow strip in the middle. Brilliant. And where exactly are we supposed to pitch the tent?
Fortunately, after a lot of pedalling, the ground widened out and we managed to pitch the tent on the grass next to a museum.
A sour awakening
At 6:40 in the morning the sun pulled us out of our sleeping bags. By 7:00 our eyes were open, by 7:30 we started packing up, and at 7:55 — just as we were about to take the tent down — one of the workers from the museum (or from the nature reserve we'd unknowingly camped in) started foaming at the mouth over us being there.
Good morning to you too! We got back on the bikes without breakfast and pedalled, surrounded by water, until we found the first tree to sit under, the first shade to eat something in.
We had no bread, no milk, no yoghurt, no cereal. Just rice and two eggs. So we had rice and eggs for breakfast. And, for flavour, we doused it in chilli. It was the third bowl of rice I'd had in the last 36 hours.
Sleeping rough in the rain
Our pedalling took us along tracks to an enormous dune beach — kilometres and kilometres of beach protected as a nature reserve. Night had fallen again and we still hadn't pitched the tent.
When the road ended and only a cycle path remained for the last 10 kilometres to the far end of the beach, it started thundering.
Lightning lit up the sky, which until then had been hidden behind a blanket of cloud. Looking around — as we'd been doing for the past 20 kilometres — we still couldn't see anywhere to put the tent.
Rushed by the approaching storm and out of better options, we decided to skip the tent and bivy on the platform of the beach toilets.
It would have been an ideal spot except for one small detail: the roof of the structure wasn't finished. It had columns and beams but nothing on top, so the rain came through in strips half a metre wide.
Using the columns as anchor points, I rigged our tarp to keep us out of the rain. We got our waterproof sleeping bag liners out. That's where we spent the night — water splashing onto our bags, feeling the damp, but relatively sheltered from the downpour.
Another early wake-up with the sun in our faces, only for the rain to start again half an hour later. After a few false starts, the grey clouds seemed to shift and we decided to get moving.
Showering on the beach
We hadn't managed a shower the night before, and we were starting to feel the need. When we reached the far end of the beach we found another cabin — this one with a shower — and we stripped off right there in the open and had a good cold shower. The first contact with cold water made me jump, especially with the sun still weak behind so many clouds, but once I'd soaped up I didn't want to stop. I didn't want to get back on the bike. I didn't want to feel dirty again.
More cycling, more pedalling, more tracks and greenways — always surrounded by water. The whole south-east of France is dotted with wetlands and canals, which makes it perfect cycling terrain.
Another supermarket stop, another dinner of rice, another night in a forest by the road.
We've enjoyed the coast, but we're craving something more — more of the real France, more contact with the country. After Marseille we're heading to Italy through the interior, crossing the Alps via the Colle della Maddalena and some of its passes above 2,000 metres. We can't wait for mountains.
